Barely Breathing
by pokeitlikejello
Summary: Huddy. Cuddy's point of view as we follow House through his course of actions after the infarction and after Stacy left. Just a oneshot.


**A oneshot fic. ****The set up: House's infarction happened, Stacy's gone, and House is living in Jersey, but doesn't work at PPTH yet. I don't own House M.D. nor the characters and I don't own Barely Breathing by Duncan Sheik either. Enjoy, folks!**

* * *

**I know what you're doing, I see it all too clear  
 I only taste the saline when I kiss away your tears**

"Come over."

"Now?"

"Now."

"It's three a.m."

"So?"

"Damn it."

**You really had me going, wishing on a star   
But the black holes that surround you are heavier by far**

"I thought you said you were better."

"I was."

Cuddy stood in his doorway. He was dressed in baggy sweatpants and a black tee shirt. He was losing weight and she noticed. She tried to lock eyes with him, but it was difficult. He was avoidant.

"I can't keep coming over here. The only reason I even bothered to-"

"You keep saying it's because you feel guilty. I don't believe that."

"I don't care what you believe."

His eyes met hers and she realized why he had been avoiding eye contact. Not that she hadn't already realized. Now, she just knew for certain.

"We had something-" he began.

"We didn't have anything, House." Her eyes fell to the hand he was hiding behind his back. She reached out for his arm. "Did you hurt yourself? Let me see."

"I don't need you to take care of me."

He backed into his home and pushed the door forward. He wasn't trying to shut her out, but wanted to let her know he easily could. She stopped the door and entered, closing the door behind her.

"It's three in the morning," she reminded him.

He shrugged and limped around his couch. "I wanted sex."

She observed the mess. Empty food containers, stacks of old newspapers, an unidentifiable stench that made her cringe. She carefully sat on the couch next to him.

"House. Let me see."

Keeping his head turned away from her, House extended his right hand, revealing a bright pink burn that extended over his palm and onto the back of his hand. Cuddy identified it as a first degree burn and examined his hand carefully, looking for any break in the skin.

"Does it hurt?"

"No."

Her eyes met his. "Where're your pills?"

"Had to take them for the pain."

She paused for a very long time. This wasn't the first time he injured himself. "... You don't have any left."

He yanked his hand back and barely winced as it stung. "It hurt."

"You were doing so well, House, what happen-"

"Just write me a prescription."

He was up and pacing, not doing very well without the help of his hospital administered cane. He needed more pills and he knew she couldn't say no. After all, he _needed_ them.

"I... can't do that." She tried not to look at him.

He stopped. "Then, leave."

"Greg-"

"Go."

She couldn't help him like she once thought she could. Knowing there was nothing she could do now, she did as he said.

**I believed in your confusion, you were so completely torn  
 Well it must have been that yesterday was the day that I was born**

"I apologize."

It was two days later and he was in the doorway of her home. The tables had turned, but Cuddy knew better than to appreciate his apology, especially since he was sweating in forty degree weather.

"Go home."

"No, really." He held up a hand, but immediately dropped it when it started shaking. "I'm sorry. You were only trying to help me since Stacy's been gone."

She shook her head. "I wrote you prescriptions and I refilled them when I shouldn't have. I let my guilt get in the way of making decisions about-"

"Lisa, stop-"

"And _I'm_ sorry." Her eyes were locked with his.

"I don't have a problem, Lisa." He was almost convincing. Almost. "I have pain. This pain is chronic and I need a refill in order to function."

She knew he was playing her to get his drugs. "Your apology was-"

"Sincere," he cut her off in his desperation. "Now, please, _Lisa_, please. One refill. Please."

"Go home."

**There's not much to examine, there's nothing left to hide   
You really can't be serious if you have to ask me why I say good-bye**

When he didn't move, she knew she had to say something more. She couldn't have him on her doorstep in the middle of the night.

"I'm not feeding your addiction anymore, Greg," she told him. "You need help. Take my advice, get help, and get yourself a job. You need to work."

"How can I work with this pain?" His voice had risen slightly.

She pitied him. "Pain is manageable. Addiction isn't. Please, go home."

"You did this to me," he accused bitterly, grabbing onto any guilt he could.

She looked him over, studying him. He hadn't shaved in days, his clothes were stained. There was a smudge of something on his cheek. He looked like hell. She stepped back into her home, her eyes still on him.

"I know."

'**Cause I am barely breathing and I can't find the air  
 I don't know who I'm kidding, imagining you care**

Swallowing hard, she closed the front door and locked it. She listened to his rugged breathing and then his shuffling away from her door. She closed her eyes against her tears.

Addicts don't see what's around them. They don't see what they're doing. They don't understand and they certainly don't care. They need the drugs and that's enough. They don't see the pain they cause others. She knew this was true of House and there wasn't much she could do at this point. So, she went to bed to rest, but not to sleep.

**Everyone keeps asking, what's it all about?   
I used to be so certain and I can't figure out**

"You_ hired_ him?"

Wilson stood in front of her closed office door, his hands on his hips. He stared at Cuddy as if she was insane. Cuddy, tired and uncharacteristically disheveled, sat in her chair behind her desk.

"I know," she replied to Wilson.

"Dr. Cuddy-" Wilson took a step forward. He had to talk her out of this.

"I _know_," she cut him off. "I don't need this now."

"I understand that he's damn good, but-"

"_I_-" She held up a hand. "_I_ was the one who oversaw his surgery, _I_ was the one who prescribed the pain medication, _I_ was the one who enabled him because I couldn't see past the fact that I knew this man before I _ruined his life_."

Wilson softened. "You didn't-"

"He can't get work." She was more in her mind than in her office at this moment. "No one will hire him because he pops pills during interviews. I'll take him. We could use him and in this way, we can also watch him."

"_We_?" Wilson raised doubtful eyebrows.

Cuddy snapped to attention. "Please, Dr. Wilson... James... I can't do this alone. He needs help. The only way we can help him is if he doesn't know we're helping him."

"And he accepted?"

"He will."

Wilson paused. This was going to be a long undertaking. "Okay."

"Thank you."

"Yeah."

Giving her one last look, Wilson made his way out of her office. Cuddy swiveled in her chair, back in her own mind now, hoping this was the best course of action.

**What is this attraction? I only feel the pain   
There's nothing left to reason and only you to blame    
Will it ever change?**

She pounded on the door repeatedly, pushing the thought that he could be dead just on the other side from her mind.

"I have your meds, so open the damn-"

The door swung open and she almost hit him in the chest with her fist. He placed a palm on the wall to hold himself up as he swiped the orange bottle from her hand.

"Finally."

She noticed the sweat glistening on his forehead as he popped the lid off, letting it drop to the floor, and devoured several pills. She gave him the once over.

"How are you?"

He lowered the bottle and stared at her. "How do I look?"

"Terrible."

"There you go."

He reached for the lid to the bottle, but Cuddy bent down quickly and snatched it before he wound up falling on his face. She gave the lid to him.

"Are you in a fog now?" she tried to make eye contact.

"What?" The lid snapped on easily.

"Can you think clearly?"

"Of course I can think clearly, Cuddy. I'm _managing_ my _pain_, not popping pills to-"

"House, stop. Listen, there's a position open at the hospital for you."

He carefully looked her over, wondering if she was serious or if this was some sort of trick.

"You're offering me a job?"

She cringed slightly. It was almost painful to commit. "Yes."

"Why?"

"You've done me favors."

"One."

"Right. And that night-"

"Couldn't have been enough to offer me a job."

"Just accept it, okay? You're cheap, I need a new head of diagnostics, you're already in the area, need I go on?"

"Yes."

He began to shut the door, but she slammed her palm against the cold wood, preventing it from closing.

"House, I'm the best you'll-"

"Ha," he scoffed, pulling the door back a little. "I doubt that."

"Yeah?" She raised her eyebrows. "And how many job offers do you have?"

He ignored her question and studied her face, searching for an indication that this was a hoax.

"I'd have access to the hospital. To everything?"

"Define everything."

"Labs, radiology, pharmacy..."

She set her jaw, knowing he only cared about the last one. "Yes. All of it."

"I'll start Monday."

She hesitated. "House, you need to make sure your Vicodin is under control because I can't-"

"Don't worry, Cuddy. I'll be just as good a doctor as I had been when I had my thigh muscle."

'**Cause I am barely breathing and I can't find the air   
I don't know who I'm kidding, imagining you care**

He closed the door in her face. She bowed her head, holding back tears that threatened her. He knew just what to say to upset her. Of course he did. House observed others, found their weaknesses, and jabbed at them with sharp objects until they bled. It was his comfort. Although, she was positive he hadn't been observant enough to realize he wasn't the only one in pain.

**I've come to find I may never know your changing mind  
 Is it friend or foe?**

"Wow."

"What?"

"Your breasts just said hello."

House's eyes lingered on the Cuddy's chest, which seemed to rise above its call of duty as it displayed itself for the world to see in her tight, v-neck shirt.

"Stop staring at my chest."

"Stop showing it off."

Her eyebrows drew together. "I'm not-"

"Don't give me that crap," he cut her off. "I can see right through you. Show off the fun bags and white collar balding men agree to throw in another ten grand, papers are on your desk by noon, automatic cut to the front of the line in the cafeteria."

"I don't have time for-" She attempted to move past him.

He grabbed her arm, drawing her back. "You don't have time because I can offer you nothing. Well, maybe not nothing. You just don't want what I have to offer."

"We're not going there."

"Of course not. A promise is a promise."

He released her arm and moved away from her. Her eyes lingered on his backside before she, too, continued on with her work for the day.

**I rise above or sink below   
With every time you come and go   
Please don't come and go**

"You're high."

"No."

House was seated in the chair across from his desk. He was resting, a small smile on his face. It was well beyond a late night at the hospital. Cuddy stood in front of him, her hands on her hips.

"You're sluggish," she said, her words biting. "Your pupils are constricted. You're not even looking at me."

He blinked, slowly. His mouth opened. "No."

"Damn it, House." She could barely look at him. "What the hell happened?"

"My... thigh hurt."

Cuddy noticed the empty bottle at his feet. She bent down and swiped it up. She examined it a moment before snapping her attention to House.

"This was refilled Tuesday."

"...Yeah."

"House, that was three days ago."

"I know."

"Okay." She took a step back, the bottle falling from her hand. She gave a short nod. "Okay."

She moved to exit. She couldn't watch this anymore. She couldn't be near this anymore. Not tonight.

"Cuddy."

"What?" She faced him, her hand on the cold door handle. "What could you possibly want?"

"A... drink."

"Get it yourself."

'**Cause I am barely breathing   
And I can't find the air**

Cuddy's heels clicked sharply down the hallway. She entered the empty elevator that seemed to have been waiting for her. The doors slid closed and she jammed her finger into the down button.

Pacing wildly, her breaths came in short and quick. Cuddy clutched the side of the elevator, feeling the space closing in on her. She couldn't seem to breathe and her fingers were becoming tingling and numb. Slowly, she lowered herself to the ground as lightheadedness threatened her.

The doors slid open on the ground floor. The hospital lobby was empty except for a nurse at the front desk, who was too preoccupied to notice Cuddy as she attempted to catch her breath in the elevator.

Panic attacks weren't her thing. At least, they hadn't been until she realized she was in way over her head whenever House felt he needed to succumb to his drugs. During those times, she wished she could slap sense into him. She wished she could fix everything. And she wished she didn't feel she was suffocating beneath him.

* * *

Fin. 


End file.
